His Cowboy Boots Against My Dr Martens
by ThePsychoVamp
Summary: There is no doubt that Professor Whitlock is a complete History nerd. Unfortunately for Edward, he's also insanely hot, which, according to Alice, means that karma is finally doing its job. Judge TiffaniW's Personal Vote and Editor's Choice on the Twi Revenge of the Nerds Contest.


**A.N.: Heyo, guys! Here is my entry for the Revenge of the Nerds Contest. I had loads of fun writing it, and I hope you have loads of fun reading it! Big thanks to Written Tales for officially beta'ing this and basically being my savior. Without her, this story would probably be coated in dust on some shady file on my laptop. But because she didn't allow that to happen, this was chosen by one of the judges as his/her favorite, and it was also the editor's choice. I've already patted myself on the back, but you can do it, too, if you want – all you need to do is click away at the review box below.**

 _ **(Also,**_ **for my usual readers – Cryoseism has been updated, and you should definitely check out the new chapter.)**

 **()**

If there was ever a word that had been heartbreakingly wronged by the crushing majority of English dictionaries, it would be the word _nerd._ Not only were its unknown origins completely ignored, as if they weren't even worth trying to look into, it fell victim all too often to linguists' unabashed bullying—apparently, besides being socially inept, awkward, and hopelessly boring, nerds were, as a general rule, _unattractive._

This definition was, of course, no more than a myth—one that had been quickly and violently debunked the moment Edward stepped for the first time into the lecture hall.

The same lecture hall where he was supposed to have his American History class with one Professor Whitlock.

At the time, all he knew was that Whitlock was from Texas, and rumor had it that he was _outstandingly_ knowledgeable, so it came as a shock to him to realize that the man who would be teaching him all about the civil war and whatnot was actually… pretty young—well, at least for someone with a PhD and with such an insane amount of knowledge. Technically, he was still around ten years Edward's senior.

Of course, none of that had really mattered at the time, overshadowed as it had been by the rush of heat that had coursed through Edward's body when his eyes fell upon a pair of plump, delicious-looking lips that moved amidst the blondish stubble covering the lower half of Whitlock's face—a face that suddenly turned to him, just as he came to a halt right after opening the door.

The two were still for a moment, looking back at each other. Whitlock's light brown, hazel-ish eyes flashed with a distinct hint of annoyance beneath the recently-cleaned lenses of his glasses.

"May I help you?" a deep, slightly throaty voice said.

Edward broke out of his stupor.

"I, uh… Is this, um…Is this American History?"

"It would appear so," the professor replied, a playful smile tugging at the edge of his mouth. Edward thought there was something possibly… malicious to it, like he was being made fun of or something, and immediately, his cheeks became warm. He found himself a spot in the upper rows, far enough to become no more than a blur amidst all the other faces, but not so far that he wasn't able to stare at his new professor and hang on to his every word with a desperate sort of rapture that surprised even him.

Normally, it went the complete opposite way. Men and often girls with an obviously broken gaydar flocked to him and tried to twist their way into his bed, which, if he gave it some thought, didn't make that much sense, because he was definitely not the Hollywood kind of hot. He'd always had his share of contenders seeking his attention, though, regardless of that fact, whereas he, on his part, had never harbored a strong interest in anyone in particular.

So, for someone to catch his eye like that, to _hold_ his unstirring attention for so long, was a feat, and if one were to take into account all the prejudice out there about nerds and all their nerdish derivations, it was even more flabbergasting, because Jasper Whitlock, the man currently leaning against the wooden table at the bottom of the lecture hall, was a total class-A, hot-as-sin _nerd_.

That was to say that the common belief amongst Humanities students that the man was way beyond averagely well-read was by no means just a rumor. Whitlock _knew_ his stuff. More surprisingly, he knew a whole lot about other stuff, too, ranging from economics to philosophy. He wasn't the type of professor that limited himself to rewinding the same garbage every year. His classes attracted so many people, because, demanding though he was, they e _njoyed_ listening to him.

Amongst all of Edward's professors, he was the one that made the difference between high school and college crystal-clear simply by instilling in his students the sense that in History there were no absolutes—only different interpretations of the same fact, some of them more plausible than others. In fact, that was exactly what he was doing now.

"Now, some of you might be rather taken aback by this, but there isn't actually a consensus amidst historians regarding the American Civil War, or at least how we, Anglophones, decided to call it. Some argue that it wasn't in fact a civilwar, but merely a secession struggle instead, if one is to classify a civil war as a conflict where each party seeks to impose a diametrically different political model on the entire country, like what happened in Russia before the stabilization of the communist regime. In fact, that's why Spanish speakers, but not only, employ a different terminology and call it _la Guerra de Secesión_ instead…"

It was utter madness. Edward's body must have somehow reverted back to its weird, middle-school, chemical-producing mode, because otherwise it didn't make sense for him to feel his dick throbbing inside his briefs in the middle of a goddamn lecture. What _was_ it about Whitlock? Was it the Southern accent? Or maybe it had something to do with his honey-blond hair, tied as it was in a low ponytail. But so many men had their hair like that, so it couldn't be. Granted, the guy had an undoubtedly amazing body beneath his blue shirt and khaki dress pants—Edward could see the outline of his bulging, sculpted biceps beneath the fabric all too easily—, but then, he'd never slept with any man that _didn't_ have a body like that.

His last guess was that Whitlock was just enthusiastic enough about his own class to stoke in Edward a strange sort of warmth. The way the man spoke... Anyone could see that History wasn't just a vessel for his salary—it was his life passion. It meant so much to him that his eyes would flash with all sorts of emotions throughout each of his classes, ranging from amusement to sadness, and his large, masculine hands would gesticulate in-between short intervals. Sometimes, a smile would grace his face upon a joke that only _he_ understood, as if it only made sense if you had spent most of your life studying the subject to exhaustion.

Edward respected that. He _admired_ Whitlock for it. He might—just might—have dug a little space in his heart for the man and his class, in fact, which was why, when the assignment that he'd handed only a week before returned to his hands, corrected in red ink and graded, his chest seemed to cave in on itself, like a million-pound rock had just punched through it.

"A C, Alice," he said a bit too loudly, causing a few heads to turn in the cafeteria. "He gave me a fucking C."

His miniature of a friend rolled her dark brown eyes, pinching one of the cherry-tomatoes in her salad with the silver spikes of her fork.

"Get over it."

"No way." He shook his head. "I mean, everyone else had _at the very least_ a B. Hell, even Mike Newton had a B, and he's as dumb as it gets."

"Jesus, stop," Alice groaned. "You're not a Leo, so stop acting like one."

"I'm not acting like a Leo," he countered, somewhat offended, even though he didn't really believe in zodiac signs. Maybe he'd just spent too much time listening to Alice talk about one of _her_ passions, and now her teachings were ingrained in his subconscious, like some sort of third socialization.

And that was kind of awful, actually, considering that she would judge people based on the exact time and location of their birth. That was the major difference between her and Whitlock: she was kind of a fanatic when it came to astrology, and he was just… a nerd.

Indeed, Jasper Whitlock was a sexy-as-hell nerd, who had given Edward the first stone-cold C he'd ever had in his life.

"You _are._ I bet the next thing you're going to say is that this is him picking on you specifically for arriving late on your first class."

"I…" He totally _was_ about to say that. "Whatever. You know what? I bet _he_ is a Leo."

A pensive look fell over Alice's face.

"He _does_ have great hair," she muttered, like there was an actual correlation between those two things. "Anyway, you wanna know what I think?"

"No."

"I think your parents are assholes."

"What the fuck, Alice?"

"I mean it. They always asked way too much of you, and now you're this perfectionist mess of a person who can't handle a freaking C."

Edward felt an odd current of sheer coldness run through the flesh of his arms, like someone had injected him with some unfamiliar substance that his blood wasn't supposed to react to all too well. Only Alice was able to make him that uncomfortable, and he still wasn't very sure why that was, but he didn't want to give it too much thought, so, leaning back against his chair, he changed the course of the conversation so that _she_ would be the victim of his sarcasm instead.

"Is that so? Isn't it because I have my Venus in Ophiuchus or something?"

"Ophiuchus is not a sign."

"Well, NASA seems to think so."

"Fuck NASA."

"Right? Fuck the biggest, most successful space agency in the world. Fuck it. You're _so_ right."

"Edward, get out of my face right now."

"No need to ask twice."

They departed on a half-heartedly tense note, but when night rolled around, Edward gladly pulled up in his Volvo beside his best friend's house and patiently waited for her to choose the best high heels to match her outfit.

He didn't mind the wait at all—the truth was that Alice was extremely insecure about her height, and high heels managed to boost her confidence in a way that Edward couldn't quite understand but chose to respect. As far as he was concerned, there was absolutely nothing wrong with her small stature, but if wearing her Pradas and her Louboutins made her feel better, then he would happily go shopping with her for some new pairs.

Besides, Alice was crazy about fashion. Even though she was majoring in Finance Management, fashion had always been her number-one career option, and the only reason she hadn't taken off to study what she really wanted at a good fashion school out of Chicago was because her mother was a little too overprotective of her and couldn't handle the thought of her daughter living by herself. Even so, Alice hadn't had any issue declaring her major during her very first year of college—she _did_ love money, even if she didn't get to spend it, because besides being a pixie, she was also a goblin—, which meant that she was enthusiastic enough about each of her areas of interest to make a choice.

Edward's mind fleeted back to Whitlock and his undeniable devotion to his own class, and he wondered if, like Alice, the man had figured out early on what he wanted to do for the rest of his life. He definitely had to have done so way before college, Edward decided, his eyelids fluttering against the night wind as his chin burrowed into the crook of his elbow.

It had to be great, he thought, to be the kind of person who knew exactly what they wanted and where they were going—not like _him_ , who was already in his sophomore year and was still clueless about what he was going to major in.

Maybe people like him didn't just need time, like his uncle Carlisle had said. Maybe what they needed was to be kicked out of college straight into the nearest McDonald's. After all, it wasn't like he was _so_ smart that something would actually go to waste—the C he'd received just that morning was enough proof of that…

"Oh, no," an airy, fairy-like voice said from the passenger seat. Edward blinked. He'd been so distracted by his own thoughts that he hadn't heard Alice come in. "The good twin is back, but it's the sad, weepy version."

Edward raised a bronze eyebrow. "Do you want me to bring the bad twin back?"

"Sweetie, you're going to end up doing it anyway at some point tonight—without anybody asking for it and before even _you_ realize it."

"Hello to you, too, Alice," he said, trying to change the course of their exchange so that it didn't become a verbal bloodbath again. "You look beautiful tonight."

"Yes." She flashed him a pearly smile. "You do, too. But you're still a Gemini."

Skeptic though he was regarding Alice's beliefs, Edward had to admit that she was usually right when it came to him behaving like he suffered from multiple-personality disorder and swapping from one personality to another in the blink of an eye. In fact, this was another one of those times where her words became a weird sort of prophecy, something that dawned on him a few hours later, after he'd downed one too many tequila shots—despite having promised Alice that he would take her back home.

"I swear, Rosalie," he said, fighting the urge to laugh at the sound of his own voice. He felt like he was talking in slow-motion. "I mean, who the hell grades people on paper anyway? Like, careful, we've got a Victorian-wannabe here. We can't force him to use a goddamn laptop and send our grades over email, because otherwise, he would, I don't know, die or someth—"

"All right," the blonde interrupted him. "Have you even entertained the thought that _maybe_ it's your fault you had a C?"

"No, I have not," he replied immediately, even if only a few hours before he'd let the stupid assignment define his level of intelligence. "And I refuse to. You know why? Because _he_ did it on purpose, and you know why? Because he's insecure. I mean, look at him, at his dumb glasses and, I don't know, his dumb stripped ties. The guy probably doesn't have friends, and he's jealous that _I_ have a social life, so that's why he's doing this."

At this point, Edward knew he was running his mouth, but he just couldn't help it. Something about Whitlock giving him a C had had enough of an impact that now his reaction seemed overall disproportional and juvenile. He probably wouldn't be acting like this if it had been any other professor—he would've been disappointed and maybe hate himself a little for about two minutes, but he wouldn't be filled from the inside out with all this… anger. He wouldn't find himself becoming even _more_ upset upon the realization that his anger was actually just a consequence of something inside his chest becoming splintered, like a ridge in a seabed giving rise to a tidal wave.

"How would he know that you have a social life?" Bella asked innocently, crossing her legs beneath her on the couch across from them.

"Because nerds _sense_ those things," he explained. "It's like a defense mechanism."

"Okay, why don't you try this?" Rosalie said, pushing herself off her green beanbag to pour some white wine into a glass that she passed on to Edward before sitting down again. "Why don't you drink that, shut up for a minute, and right after your next class with him, lift that perky ass of yours and go talk to him about it?"

Edward let the idea swirl around his head for a moment, taking a long sip from his glass.

"Okay," he agreed.

Rosalie's blue eyes almost leaped out of her skull.

"Holy shit," she muttered. "That was easy."

Indeed, Edward couldn't remember having taken anyone's advice so quickly before. His mother had always said that convincing him to do anything—or worse, _not_ to do something—was like pulling teeth, which sounded rather reassuring, actually, because it made him feel that, whatever the situation, he'd eventually find a way to carry out what he had in mind. It was this same feeling that he tried to infuse his lungs with the following week as he stood in front of the mirror of his bathroom, exactly one hour before his American History class.

"Okay," he breathed out, rolling back his shoulders beneath his black leather jacket. Obviously, he'd fancied up—the dark wash, slim-fitting jeans, coupled with the V-neck white tee, had been deliberately snatched out of his closet, along with his black Dr. Martens. He didn't _know_ for sure that Whitlock swung his way, but… Well, he liked to be prepared. "Remember who you are," he muttered to himself. "You're Edward Masen, and you're going to walk up to the guy and demand a fucking explanation."

He thought that, if what Alice said was true and he had a split soul, _this_ was the time to bring on the most intimidating half of it, which was why, when the moment came for him to walk down the steps towards Whitlock's desk at the bottom of the lecture hall, he straightened his back and lifted his chin. He _knew_ there was no way the guy would be able to answer his questions with anything remotely convincing, and for a few seconds, as he imagined Whitlock stammering and spluttering in the face of Edward's inquiry, something south of his stomach coiled in anticipation.

When he was finally close enough, the blond man was carefully placing his books and stationery inside his—totally obsolete—brown leather briefcase, so wrapped up in his own thoughts that his head snapped up in surprise upon the sound of Edward's voice.

"Excuse me, Professor. May I have a word with you?"

Deep, brown eyes, surrounded by long lashes, squinted in confusion.

"Of course."

"All right," Edward said without a moment of hesitation. "The problem is the following: you gave me a C on the last assignment you asked for, and in order to do better on the next assignment, I need to know what I did wrong on this one… And I'm afraid your notes at the end aren't very enlightening."

"Is that so?" Whitlock raised a dark blond eyebrow, and Edward resisted the urge to cower underneath the man's stare—it occurred to him that his voice had been laden with an undercurrent of barely adulterated sass, and as someone with a damn PhD, Whitlock was probably clever enough to have picked up on it. Still, Edward was no pushover: he wasn't supposed to be nervous about the whole exchange, but for some reason… he was. "May I take a look?"

"Sure," Edward mumbled under his breath, handing over the paper that his fingers had been clutching all this time. His green eyes followed the outline of the professor's hand as he held the assignment for a minute and then turned it over. He truly had beautiful hands, the redhead thought—masculine and somewhat calloused in certain places, blanketed in a warm color. They made Edward's mind venture into strange territory, where he saw his own lips parting as the man's thumb slid into his mouth.

 _Jesus fucking Christ. Get a grip._

"Well," Whitlock said after a while, and Edward blinked away the haze that had draped over his eyes. "It seems that you forgot to mention the book you took this quote from." He showed Edward what he was talking about, pointing to the sentence that the redhead had quoted but, indeed, had forgotten to allude to at the end.

"Are you… Are you serious?"

A dark look floated over Whitlock's face like a shadow, and Edward fought the need to gulp down his sudden anxiety when he realized that his tone had been less than appropriate.

"Yeah, I _am_ serious," the professor said. "Not mentioning where you found something that you quoted qualifies as plagiarism, and as you know, that's illegal. You're lucky I only took some points off your grade. Any other professor would've given you a straight-out F. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a conference to attend."

With that, he grabbed his briefcase and swiftly disappeared behind the double doors, leaving a spluttering Edward to digest what he'd just heard. For at least a couple of minutes, the redhead didn't move, staring down at the paper in his hand, trying to rummage through his memory and retrieve the piece of information that was lacking at the end of the assignment. _Whose_ work had he quoted? How come he'd carefully chosen four different books from the library and hadn't taken the time to remember _all_ the titles and _all_ the authors?

Maybe it was because he'd finished the assignment so late at night. His vision had been literally blurring over at the time.

In any case, Whitlock had just mercilessly chewed him up and spat him out. Giving Edward a C because of a small detail that he'd plainly forgotten was harsh, and so was the way he'd shut the redhead down. It was very unlikely that every other student besides him had referenced _all_ the work they'd cited with no mistakes, and yet, Edward had received the lowest grade in class.

It seemed… unfair.

Alice, as usual, had a seemingly obvious explanation for it.

"I'm sure it's karmic payback," she affirmed, her voice sounding deeper than normal, because she was lying on her back, mindless of the grass that was sticking to the hem of her burgundy dress. "I mean, it's like you said. He's a nerd—he's hot, but he's still a nerd. Imagine what high school must have been like for him. Now the universe is balancing things out."

"Yeah," Edward muttered, tapping his leg in a vain effort to chase away the pins and needles there. He'd been sitting cross-legged on the ground for almost an hour. "I still don't know what that has to do with me. I never did anything to him. And just because I was popular in high school, it doesn't mean I was ever mean to anyone."

"Yeah, well… Maybe he's just a dick."

"Yeah," he said quietly. "Maybe."

Truly, he didn't want to think of his professor like that. Somehow, throughout time, he'd built an image of Whitlock that managed to actually inspire him. He wanted to think of him as the young, ingenious, passionate academic that he'd seen on his first American History class—someone whom Edward could look up to, not a bitter, immature, vindictive geek. Perhaps the man was right, and forgetting something so simple could indeed be considered a crucial mistake. Maybe it was Edward who needed to stop pitying himself and just take responsibility for it.

Either way, he had to admit that all of it left him feeling even worse. He hadn't thought it was possible, but Whitlock's strict rebuke had blown through all his previous anger like a hurricane, until there was only a deep sense of failure and smallness left. He felt like he just wasn't good enough—more specifically, he felt like he wasn't good enough for his professor. As if that wasn't sufficiently dispiriting, he'd also spoken to the man in a manner that completely ruled out any chance of getting his approval from now onwards.

He sulked throughout the rest of the day, trying to bury himself in coursework in order to distract himself, until nighttime arrived and his cell phone buzzed with an incoming message from Seth.

 _Hey, missing person! Dinner and partying later?_

He wasn't very fond of the idea of having to plaster a smile onto his face and making it stick throughout the rest of the night, but if there was alcohol involved, he was sure he could handle the task like a pro.

 _Hey, party animal,_ he tapped out on his phone. _Are you sure you can take care of my drunk ass?_

Seth got the hint right away—Edward wasn't up for driving, and even if he could call an Uber, it was always preferable to get a ride from his friend. Knowing this, Seth came to pick him up a few minutes later, and soon they were on their way. They ate at a small restaurant in the vicinity, where apparently they were to meet at some point or another with a guy named Peter.

"I feel like I'm missing out on so much," Edward complained, dropping his silverware. "Who _is_ Peter? Why haven't I heard of him before? Why do you get that weird shine in your eyes whenever you mention his name?"

Seth's tanned cheeks became tinged with a deep, comical red.

"He's just a friend."

"Sure thing." Edward chuckled. "I also get goose bumps when I talk about my friends."

Seth glanced down at his uncovered forearms, seeing for himself how the thin hairs there had stood on end throughout their conversation.

"Yeah, okay, he's… He's special, I guess. But I don't want things to move too fast, you know?"

"Then slow down."

"Yeah, that's what I'm trying to do, but I feel like if I make him wait for too long, he'll lose interest, and then he'll just move on to the next best thing—Shit, he's coming."

Edward turned his head to see a blond man a couple of years older than him walking towards their table.

"One thing," he said softly enough that only Seth would hear him. " _You_ are the next best thing, and you deserve a man who waits for you."

Seth grinned, his smile widening even more when Peter sat down right next to him and unashamedly kissed his cheek before introducing himself to Edward, who suddenly felt a shiver course through his flesh upon the sense that he had seen this man before. For a moment, he worried that he'd had a drunken one-night stand with him at some point, but then, after close inspection, he realized that the blonde's eyes were eerily familiar. The nose, too, seemed to unearth some vague memories…

It was only when Peter steered the conversation in a very specific direction, mid-way through their meal, that it finally clicked, and Edward's attention was efficiently roused.

"I'm sorry," he said suddenly. "What does your brother teach again?"

"History," Peter replied. "I mean, he specializes in American History, because that's, you know, his raison d'être." The blonde rolled his eyes. "I swear, if he could travel back in time and fight in the Civil War, I'm sure he would do it without a second thought."

"Secession War," Edward corrected.

Peter frowned. "What?"

"Never mind," the redhead said. "I'm curious now. Where does he teach?"

"The University of Chicago. Wait… Are you Jasper's student or something?"

"Oh, definitely not," Edward lied, because that was just something he did compulsively for one, and besides, he didn't want Peter to go tell his brother that he'd met one of his students. "I'm more of a science guy. But your brother is pretty famous amongst the student body. In fact…" A mischievous smile crept onto his face, as he prepared to bait Peter into telling him what he _really_ wanted to know. "There's a rumor that he's, you know, gay."

Peter nodded. "Yeah, he is."

"He is?" Edward's eyes became green saucers for a moment. He hadn't been expecting an answer like that, as if perhaps it was just too good to be true. The mental images that had haunted him almost every night since the beginning of the semester started rushing again through his mind, only this time they were more vivid, untainted by the feeling that he was deluding himself.

"Well, the way he acts, you'd think he's asexual. I swear, whenever we go out together, I try to convince him to go talk to other guys, but he's…" Peter waved a hand in the air in frustration. "I don't know. I guess he's too much of a geek. He'd rather spend his time collecting his little Civil War artifacts than waste a breath interacting with humans."

"Maybe…" Edward started. "Maybe he just hasn't found the right person yet."

He could understand that—wanting to wait for the right man rather than casually swinging from one person to another. Edward himself had grown somewhat tired of that kind of life, and, as he watched Peter and Seth exchange such intimate looks, like they were confiding in each other through eye-contact, he felt a vial of jealousy trickling into the bottom of his stomach.

He _wanted_ that—to have someone whom he could trust with all his secrets, who could motivate him when he lost focus, whom he could take care of in return… The thought that up until now nobody had wanted to share that kind of relationship with him left him wondering if perhaps _he_ was the problem. Maybe he had too much of a mercurial personality. Maybe Whitlock had seen right through him and figured that Edward was the sort of person who didn't deserve a minute of his attention. He didn't know for sure. All he knew was that the thought of his professor seeing him as nothing more than a stupid, arrogant kid made him want to drown himself in loads and loads of tonic gin.

In fact, that's exactly what he did shortly after they had left the restaurant.

"You know, Seth," he slurred against the window of his friend's car, after Peter had gone on his way and they'd both agreed that it was time for them to go back home. "All those dictionaries are right. Nerds are socially ine… They're socially inept as _fuck._ They don't know how to speak to people. They're rude and hurtful, and… They're just terrible."

"And you're _terribly_ drunk," Seth retorted as he drove, sparing the redhead a compassionate glance through the corner of his eye.

"Um… Yes," he mumbled. "You know, I had a really great idea."

"God help us."

"I'm going to _humiliate_ him, like he humiliated me."

" _Who_ humiliated you?"

"I'm going to ride him until his dick falls off."

"Whoa, whoa, Ed!" Seth said loudly. "What the hell?"

The redhead smiled idly, his skull lolling back against the headrest of his seat like a broken doll's. His insides felt fuzzy, and he had the sense that his mouth was moving of its own free will, spewing out random, involuntary thoughts.

"I'm going to make him come in less than two minutes," he insisted. "And then I'm going to leave him there to wallow in his…inferiority."

"Look," Seth said before Edward could elaborate upon his plan. "I don't know who you're talking about, but that's a level of Machiavellian plotting that I don't want to hear about."

"Yeah, yeah… The ends justify the means and all that," Edward muttered, cracking an eye open. "I mean, that's bullshit. Machiavelli never actually said that."

It wasn't as though he had a famous philosopher to take inspiration from, then. If he decided to act on his drunken rambling, he would have to rely solely on his own conscience. Sadly, however, seeing as he was still reeling from Whitlock's reproach, feeling as if he'd been stomped on until he was only two feet tall, the only thing he had the motivation to rely on was the cluster of hurt pride and probably uncalled-for resentment that had unfurled inside his chest.

That was why, when morning came and he woke up alone in his bed with a dry mouth and a pounding head, he found himself _actually_ feeding the thought that he should carry out the plan he'd devised the night before. After all, Whitlock _did_ swing his way, and Edward had had enough people vying for his attention in the past to know that he was far from unattractive.

Nevertheless, he knew that his appearance in itself wouldn't be enough, so, when the time arrived for him to get dressed before his American History class, he ditched the leather jacket and the Dr. Martens and picked a navy stripped sweater and a pair of casual khakis instead. At first glance, it seemed like a completely normal outfit, but Edward knew that all he needed was to bend down for the pants to perfectly stretch across his backside and that the neck cut of the sweater would leave just enough to the imagination without him seeming desperate. Moreover, he was aware that there was something understatedly classy to it, like he was… averagely studious.

That's what he wanted—to make Jasper realize he wasn't just some ignorant kid who didn't care about college. It was all pretty ironic, actually, the fact that he was fancying up on purpose just to show who he was naturally.

What _wasn't_ really natural for him to do, on the other hand, was to sit in one of the front rows, especially in the blond man's class, but, in fact, that was exactly what he did. The point was to give off the idea that he was truly interested in what was being said—which he _was,_ actually—and, in that way, prove to his professor that he was making a serious effort to improve his grade.

He did this for a few more weeks—wearing more college-appropriate clothes, sitting in the front, asking pertinent, straightforward questions during class—, to the point where Alice picked up on the subtle change and confronted him about it.

"What's up with you?" she whispered as they sat across from each other in the library. "You're kind of acting like a Virgo. Are you finally letting go of your past vices and letting your North Node guide you?"

Edward frowned in confusion.

"Um… English, please, first of all. Secondly, are you complaining?"

"Nope." Alice raised her hands in a placating gesture.

"Good," he muttered, clicking away at his MacBook. "Because I have an assignment to write."

"Interesting," she mused. "Is it for Dr. Nerdy-Pants?"

Edward glared at her. "It's Dr. _Hot-_ Nerdy-Pants. And yes."

"Will you look at that?" Alice breathed out in bewilderment. "It's almost like the good twin has completely taken over. I wonder how long it'll last."

It didn't last very long. A few days before Edward had to hand in his assignment, he figured that the execution of his plan was simply dragging itself out for no good reason, so, after class had ended, he headed slowly towards his professor's desk, faking coyness.

"Um, I'm sorry," he said softly. "I was wondering if I could talk to you."

Whitlock raised his head upon the sound of the redhead's voice, his movements halting. He'd been stuffing his signature leather brief with his things, and the moment he stopped, Edward saw an ephemeral wave of nervousness ripple across the blond's face. It disappeared as quickly as it came, but it quickly lit up a low-burning desire in Edward's stomach to see it again. He wondered what it meant. Did _he_ make Jasper uneasy? Was it because the professor felt attracted to him already?

"Well…" Whitlock cleared his throat, and Edward watched his Adam's apple bob beneath the sun-kissed skin. "Of course."

"You see," the redhead started, "I've been reading this article for the next assignment you asked for, and there are some things in it that run counter to a lot of what you've been saying in class, so…"

The blond's eyebrows shot up to his forehead immediately, an offended sort of anger flashing through his cinnamon-brown eyes behind his glasses, and Edward knew he'd done something right. His aim this time was not to pleasehis professor, but to plant a few seeds of riled-up insecurity in him, something that could awake his darker side and alchemize their formal, student-professor relationship into something more…personal.

"Well," Whitlock said, a current of aggravation running beneath the sound of his voice. "I'm afraid I can't be faulted for my students' poor choice of reading material."

 _You know, for a nerd, you're actually kind of an insensitive fucking caveman,_ Edward thought, trying not to take note of the sudden flash of pain that crossed his throat and to focus on what he was doing instead.

After a few seconds of genuinely hurt silence, he swiftly decided to use the blond's snappiness to his own advantage, which was the same as saying that, instead of swallowing his feelings like he'd done the previous time, he chose to display them in a conscious attempt to evoke the few shreds of empathy that had to be lying _somewhere_ in his professor's right brain.

"Um… Okay," he breathed out, the lenses of Whitlock's glasses mirroring back to him the vision of his own vulnerable, wide green eyes. "I mean, I was just confused about what I read and was hoping you could clarify some things, but…" _But since you're being an asshole…_ "Okay," he sighed again, his head hanging low as he turned to leave.

"Wait," Whitlock said suddenly, and Edward sucked in a breath through his teeth when he felt a warm hand winding around his wrist. Just like he'd thought before, Jasper's skin was soft overall, but it had been roughened in places, and the calluses scraped gently against his pale skin. All too quickly, however, as soon as Edward span back around, the professor seemed to realize his mistake, and his hand dropped to his side as if it had been stung. "What is it that you don't understand?"

"I…I mean," the redhead stammered, trying to remember the excuse he'd meticulously made up at home. Jasper's eyes were oddly bright now, flickering with a mute sort of conflict. "It's about Griswold's stance on agrarianism."

It was almost ridiculous, how in-detail Edward's lie about needing the blond's help had been conceived. For a full five minutes, he talked about his fake doubts and about the article he'd looked up on purpose so eloquently that he managed to surprise himself. Whitlock, thankfully, didn't see through it and, the moment his student had finished speaking, proceeded to walk him through a long, legitimate refutation of the author's analysis. All the while, the glances that they exchanged became burdened with a silent sort of tension, and Edward knew that something in their professor-student relationship had shifted irrevocably.

Whitlock had _grabbed_ his wrist. He could've simply told Edward to wait, but instead he'd gone out of his way to touch him.

Professors didn't _do_ that—not even the friendlier ones, let alone Dr. Hot-Nerdy-Pants.

"You look _high,_ " Alice remarked a few hours later, while they sat on the steps leading up to the main entrance of the Social Sciences buildings. "I can't even tell if I'm talking to the bad twin or the good one."

Edward leaned back on his elbows, tipping his head back as he soaked in the warm sunshine. The memory of Jasper's touch on his skin swayed through the heady headspace he found himself in, unchaining a series of mental images—images of the blond's hands travelling down his shoulders, his waist, his hips…

"Maybe you're talking to both. Sometimes, things aren't black or white. Sometimes, they're just grey."

"Deep," Alice deadpanned. "You're obviously hiding something from me, and I'm sure you won't tell me anything even if I torture you with sleep deprivation, so I'm just going to pretend I don't care. That said, there's going to be a blues concert at Emmett's bar this Saturday. I thought you should know."

"That's nice," he drawled. "But I have plans already."

"With whom?"

"Don't be nosy, you gossipy Libra."

The truth was that earlier that day, right after the episode with Whitlock, he'd been instantly drawn to a pamphlet that was pinned to the corkboard in the hallway—a pamphlet which he'd promptly ripped out as soon as he'd realized that it was advertising a concert at a country bar downtown. He absolutely hated country, but, thanks to Peter, he knew that his favorite professor was more than just a little obsessed with it. With that in mind, he patiently waited until Wednesday morning arrived, and, exactly ten minutes before his American History class started, he left it on the blond's desk, placed sideways as if it had been forgotten.

Obviously, the small, surprised smile that colored the professor's face when he saw the pamphlet didn't escape the redhead's notice.

What also didn't escape his notice was the succession of continuous, heat-charged looks that were thrown his way throughout the whole class. He could feel them burning into the side of his face, warming up his cheeks. It was clear that Whitlock was trying his best to be inconspicuous, judging from the way he would divert his gaze all too quickly whenever Edward glanced up at him, just as it was clear that he wasn't being very successful.

It all made Edward's gut fill up with an effervescent sort of warmth. He didn't remember ever being this excited about the prospect of merely _seducing_ someone before—of tearing down their walls and making them lose control. Maybe he had a particular type. Maybe he preferred nerds in general, because the thought of what they could do if they channeled all that passion they had for their fandoms and their subject matters into something else stirred the depths of his imagination.

That was the thing about Jasper. Behind his glasses and his stripped ties, there wasn't just a great body. There was also a man with an actual personality, who fervently stood for his own views and who had fearlessly poured his soul into _something_. The fact that he was so uptight wasn't even a drawback for Edward; in fact, it spiked his interest, especially when he thought of what it would be like to strip the man bare.

Unfortunately, it wasn't as if he'd get to do so more than once, because if his plan was executed to completion, he highly doubted that Jasper would want to even look at him again.

Edward found himself wanting to push that thought away, however, and when Saturday evening rolled around, he had effectively kicked it out of his mind. For the first time in weeks, he slipped into his beloved Dr. Martens and into his denim jacket, sure that the occasion called for it, and rushed towards the nearest subway station to get downtown.

An anticipatory smile remained glued to his face throughout the whole ride, but when he finally stepped into the bar, it faded like a cloud of cigarette smoke, the moment he realized that Jasper was nowhere to be seen.

The band was already warming up, while more and more people began to come in and swarm the place. He hurried to find a table that was close enough to the stage, worried that all the best spots would soon disappear, and a waitress stopped by only a couple of minutes later to take his order.

"He'll have a coke," a familiar voice cut Edward off before he could ask for a beer. "He ain't old enough to drink."

"Yeah, I have eyes, too, sugar," the waitress retorted, rolling her eyes at the tall figure that had just appeared behind her seemingly out of thin air. "But whatever you say. What will _you_ have?"

Jasper sidestepped her so that he could sit across from Edward.

"I'll have a beer, please."

The waitress wrote the order down on her pad book.

"Be right back, sweet cheeks."

With that, she swaggered away towards another table, leaving them to stare at each other like a couple of gaping morons. It occurred to Edward that the reason why he still hadn't spoken was because all the noise in his head had been drowned out by the sight of his professor without glasses and holding a cowboy hat in his hand.

It was as if a spaceship had abducted Dr. Hot-Nerdy-Pants and replaced him with the cowboy-ish version.

"What are you doing here?" Jasper asked, probably making a half-assed effort to cover up his discomfort. Edward felt his throat close up for a moment, suddenly stuffed with the feeling that he was some kind of nuisance, like an annoying moth, until he began to consider what it would be like to meet one of your students outside of campus, where your authority was close to none.

It was strange to think about that, but it was a subject that couldn't be avoided. Indeed, the power dynamic between them was… a bit problematic.

"I'm…" Edward trailed off, trying to blink away the mist that'd fallen over his eyes. "I came to see the concert. You?"

"And you just came by yourself?"

Ignoring the fact that his question had been totally ignored, Edward took the opportunity to chip away a little at the blond's composure.

"Actually, I had a date," he lied. "But I was unashamedly stood up. I waited for at least thirty minutes before he sent me a text telling me that he couldn't make it."

He watched the muscles of Jasper's jaw harden for a moment beneath the five o'clock shadow that covered the lower half of his face, struggling to hide the triumphant joy that bubbled inside of him.

"I'm sorry to hear that."

Edward shrugged. "It's all right. I mean, if a guy stands you up on your first date, then I guess he's not really worth it, right?"

Jasper eyed him for a few seconds, as something oddly intense swirled inside his caramel-colored irises. Edward wondered if the blond was wearing contacts, right before coming to the conclusion that it didn't make much of the difference—the man sitting across from him wasn't an alternate version of the Jasper he knew. He was exactly the same person, only for once he was _truly_ in his own environment, surrounded by pictures of old Western legends and by people who loved the same things he did.

"Yeah, I guess not," the blond said at last, drumming his fingers on the table. "So… You like country?"

This time, Edward didn't hold back, letting loose a loud chuckle. Peter hadn't lied—his brother really was more skilled when it came to collecting historical artifacts than when it came to human interaction. The blond sounded so much like an awkward teenager that it was somehow… endearing.

"I actually hate it," Edward answered honestly, watching Jasper's eyes, which were filled with a horrified kind of defensiveness, dart up to him like a lightning bolt. "I'm serious. The guy who was supposed to show up convinced me to come, but country music makes my ears bleed."

"What?"

"Okay, I know you probably love it, because it's all part of this specific culture that you seem to belong to—"

"No, you don't get it," Jasper interrupted him. "There's a whole inventory of reasons why country _is_ great music."

"And I'm guessing all those reasons are extremely logical."

"Well, they _can't_ be," Jasper argued. "I mean, we're talking about music."

"Listen," Edward rushed in to say. "I know you think you're always right, but you're going to have to sit this one out. There's a major difference between a genre that dishes out the same formula over and over again and a genre that was _born_ out of improvisation. And you know what? I can stand Brazilian _sertanejo_ , which _sounds_ like country, because at least there's actual variety there. Country, on the other hand, is just painfully predictable. I listen to the first chords, and I know right away what comes next. It's not like jazz or the blues. I mean, the blues are outright cathartic. It's one thing to write inspiring lyrics, and another to actually _build_ a music sequence that combines sadness and joy."

The moment he stopped speaking to draw in a quick breath, he discovered that he had become the object of Jasper's undivided attention. In fact, those topaz-colored eyes were boring right into his green ones, suffused with a strange and almost _awed_ look.

"I didn't realize music was so important to you," the blond said quietly.

Edward felt his blood crawl towards his cheeks. He shrugged.

"I don't remember a day when it _wasn't_ important to me."

It was true. His earliest memories included his mother teaching him how to play the piano. His safe haven throughout most of his childhood and adolescence had been the large living room in his parents' house, where his Steinway sat. Without a doubt, music was, to use Peter's words, his "raison d'être". Not many people knew that, actually, because he always worried he would seem overenthusiastic if he started speaking about it. In other words, he was always afraid that he would sound like a nerd.

Of course, he didn't think being a nerd was a reason to be made fun of. The problem had to do with other people— _other_ people thought that it was reasonable to mock and belittle nerds, and that was why he wasn't ready to share his passion with them.

But something about Jasper made him feel sufficiently at ease to actually ramble about music without it ever occurring to him that someone might judge him for it. He realized then that, outside the lecture hall, where there were no traces of inequality between them, Jasper's presence was, in fact, a source of comfort.

That was why, throughout the whole concert, he didn't once feel the urge to leave, even if his innermost desire was to snatch all the guitars and banjos out of the band member's hands and slam them against the wall.

"So…" Jasper said after they had left the bar, as they walked down the street, escorted by the sound of cars whizzing past and people chattering. "Do you have a major yet?"

Edward ran a hand through his bronze-colored hair, huffing out a quiet, slightly nervous chuckle.

"Can't say I do," he replied honestly. It dawned on him that he'd managed not to cave into his almost pathological habit of lying through his teeth for more than two hours straight. "I'm… undecided."

"Okay," Jasper uttered slowly. "What are you interested in?"

"Well, I guess…" The redhead tried to think of something specific, but all at once his mind was filled with a myriad of different ideas. "Everything. I'm kind of… all over the place."

"You mean, you're more of an eclectic soul."

Edward came to a halt suddenly. The streetlamp behind Jasper's tall, strong body cast a warm, fluid glow onto the blond curls that were tucked between his temple and his cowboy hat, highlighting all at the same time the strange gentleness that had veiled his brown eyes. Suddenly, the redhead got the sense that the man was trying to make him feel better, and his heart began to drum at the thought.

"Sure. If you say so."

Jasper kept looking at him with that inquiring, thoughtful gleam to his eyes.

"Why didn't you enroll in a music school? If it's what you _really_ like, why didn't you pursue it?"

Edward allowed a small, slightly bitter chuckle to escape through his lips. "My parents would probably disown me, that's why. My father is pissed enough that I didn't go to law school like him."

It was strange to say that out loud, as if his parents' attitude towards him was some sort of taboo. Alice had met them already, so she had seen for herself how strict they could be when it came to Edward's future, but aside from her, nobody knew that he was kept on a short leash as far as his studies were concerned. The fact that he had just shared such a private piece of information with his American History professor left him wondering if he still wanted to carry on with his plan—to diabolically humble down a man who was beginning to seem less and less like a cold asshole and more and more like someone he could trust.

He lowered his gaze to the ground, suddenly thoughtful and a bit morose, his insides completely devoid of amusement as he noticed the sharp contrast between the rustic sight of Jasper's cowboy boots and that of his black Dr. Martens.

"My father wanted me to go to the military," Jasper admitted, and when Edward glanced up in surprise, it dawned on him that the physical distance between them had shortened considerably.

A poignant fog began to settle around his head. He felt like he could hear his own heart, pulsing just below the skin of his neck and pumping a dose of adrenaline right through his buzzing flesh.

"Really?" he murmured. Because there was a slight height difference between them, Jasper's supple lips were just in his line of sight, and though he wanted to know more about the blond and his life, he found that he simply couldn't focus on anything else.

"Yeah," Jasper replied, and oddly enough, he sounded almost like he was out of breath.

 _I don't want to hurt you at all,_ Edward thought, an echo of shame rippling through his insides at the fact that all this time he'd been playing at a stupid, subversive game that he no longer felt like partaking in. Still, Jasper's mouth was so close, and his breath was warm as it ghosted over Edward's face…

"I'm sorry," the redhead whispered, not knowing what he was sorry for, before tilting his head up to touch his lips to Jasper's.

For a couple of seconds, he remained rooted to the spot, his eyes closed, his mouth still pressed to the blond's, while he waited for some sort of response, mindful of the very real possibility that Jasper's only reaction would be to shove him away. That was a scenario that was quickly thrust out of his mind, however, as soon as Edward felt a pair of strong arms envelop his waist and pull him against a hard body.

The way Jasper kissed him back was as shocking as it was all-consuming. There were no traces of inhibition in the manner in which the blond's lips moved against his, nor did Edward receive any kind of warning before he felt a warm, velvety tongue push slowly into his mouth.

All the thoughts running through the redhead's brain quieted down, gathering into a low, almost imperceptible hum. For a while, the only thing he registered was the feeling of Jasper's body so close to him—the blond seemed to be everywhere, like an ever-lasting presence, enclosing him in a haven of their own.

All too soon, though, the kiss was brought to a halt, as Jasper drew his mouth away.

"How did you come here?" he asked. His arms were still wrapped around Edward's waist, which the redhead took as a good sign.

"The subway."

"Come on. I'll give you a ride home."

It was clear that the atmosphere around them had irreversibly changed, having become almost entirely drenched in the afterglow that tended to follow any first kiss that actually meant something. They didn't hold hands as they walked to Jasper's Ranger, but Edward knew that none of what they'd built between them in just a few hours had been knocked down.

With this in mind, he stepped into his bedroom later that night with an irremovable smile on his face, pressing his lips together as he dropped onto his bed and tried to summon the feeling of Jasper's mouth on his just through body memory.

A few days after, however, the seams of the bubble of lightness that he had carelessly immersed himself in began to darken. Not because of any event in particular, but simply because Alice's prodding eventually gave rise to a serious, mature reflection about what was currently happening between him and Jasper.

" _Teddy_ ," she whined, using his childhood nickname. "Tell me."

"Tell you what, woman?"

"Why do you look so happy?"

Edward rolled his eyes as he tapped out an email to the chief librarian, apologizing for not returning the books he'd borrowed some weeks earlier.

"Because life is beautiful, Alice. Go outside. Get some fresh air. Listen to the birds chirping. You'll see what I'm talking about."

"Did something happen on Saturday?" she insisted. "Who did you meet with? He has to be really special for you to miss a concert at Emmett's."

Edward felt his blood pooling in his cheeks, looking around him at the smattering of students that were also waiting inside the small classroom for their French class to start. He decided right then that he wouldn't breathe a word to Alice or anyone in general about the kiss he'd shared with Jasper. Things like that tended to travel fast, and he didn't want them to travel at all. If the college staff knew about it, Jasper ran the risk of being fired, and he didn't even want to think about the rumors that would spread like a plague amidst the student body. People would immediately assume that Edward had an unfair advantage over everyone else and that he wasn't being evaluated according to normal standards.

"Nah, he wasn't that great," he said. "Too vanilla for me. Plus, his name was Alistair, which means I don't ever want to meet his parents. It was a dead-end."

Alice left it alone at last, and he resisted the urge to sigh in relief. His and Jasper's situation really was a precarious one, and, now that he actually gave it some more thought, he became aware of the spiral of ramifications that would ensue from the growing proximity between them. If Edward had been so deeply affected by the C he'd gotten on that first assignment, back when they were almost strangers, how would he react now if Jasper graded him like that again? Even if he got an A, he'd be haunted by doubt, not knowing if he'd really deserved it or if Jasper was doing him a special favor.

Jasper, on his part, would probably try his best to be impartial, but, like any other person, he was prone to being influenced by his own feelings. In any case, as long as Edward was his student, it was difficult to avoid the existence of an uneven power balance between them and the very real danger of mixing up their personal life with their academic one.

That didn't mean, however, that Edward planned on completely forgetting about the blond man. At this point, he didn't think he could anyway. What was done was done—he couldn't _unkiss_ Jasper, but he could wait three more weeks, just until the end of the school year, so that he could approach the other like that again.

Meanwhile, he would have to be on his very best behavior while he sat through another six classes with the man.

It definitely wasn't easy. The fact that Jasper would always avoid looking directly at him ate a little more every day at Edward's chest, even if he understood why the blond was doing that. Most of the time, he had to suppress the childish, reckless side of him that wanted to keep baiting Jasper into losing control, and once, after his second assignment was handed to him with a big, red A on the first page, he actually slipped up.

"Looks like I didn't forget anything this time," he said, and though there was a provoking edge to his voice, the real problem was that, as he flashed the blond man a wide smile, he actually… _winked_.

A draft of cold anger swept over Jasper's face, while his brown eyes narrowed behind his roundish glasses, before he stalked off, leaving Edward alone to wince internally at his mistake.

The worst part of it all, Edward realized, was not knowing if that kiss had meant _something_ to Jasper after all. There was no longer any point in denying to himself that his feelings for the blond man ran deeper than he had thought was possible, and being kept in the dark all this time about whether the other had also grown this attached to him or not made the redhead toss and turn late at night.

Finally, the day of his American History final arrived, and by then, Edward—and almost every other person around him—was running on coffee and chocolate bars. He didn't have the time or the patience to choose what to wear, so, after putting on an old sweatshirt and a pair of jeans, he begrudgingly accepted his mother's offer to ride him to school.

"You're too nervous to drive," she said, turning the key in the ignition. "I don't want you going around wrapping your car around trees."

"That makes sense." Edward nodded. "How many trees do you think I can wrap my car around in just fifteen minutes? Ten? Twenty?"

"Shush." She slapped the side of his leg with the back of her hand.

"Besides, I'm not nervous," he retorted. "I'm going to Juilliard next year, so I might as well set the exam paper on fire."

"Yes. Go ahead and set your father's money on fire, too."

Edward leaned back against the leather seat, a frown poised over his face. He couldn't argue against his mother's opinion that money shouldn't be wasted, especially when so many people needed it, but at the same time, he felt a wave of resentment course through him.

"You know…" he said quietly. "If you guys had let me go to Juilliard right after high school like I wanted, there would be no need to waste more money than necessary."

His mother fell silent, casting him a conflicted glance from the corner of her eye, and Edward gave her a small, reassuring smile. The truth was that he didn't hold anything against her—he knew that she wouldn't mind if he went to New York to study music. His father had been the one to pressure him into pursuing something more _realistic_ ; she'd merely… stepped aside and allowed her husband to call the shots.

None of that mattered now, though. He was deeply aware that he couldn't count on his father to support his decisions, so he'd already begun to concoct a feasible enough plan that didn't involve asking for anybody's help. Jasper had said that his father had wanted him to join the army, and Edward had absorbed enough information throughout his conversation with Peter to know that the Whitlock family was far from rich. All of that had to mean that the blond man hadn't had it easy—he'd probably been forced to step out of his comfort zone to get to where he was now.

But he'd pulled through anyway, simply because he loved History, just as Edward loved music.

Well, the parallel between the two men wasn't _entirely_ accurate. Edward didn't think he'd be able to put himself through the agony of correcting the papers of more than a hundred students in a matter of days, like Jasper probably had to do at the end of every quarter. Seeing the lecture hall almost overflowing with students—some of whom he'd never seen before in his life—made the redhead feel genuinely sorry for the man, considering that their exam consisted mainly of essay questions.

Edward, on his part, had no problem with those. His hand ached with exhaustion by the time he'd finished writing, but at least he was certain that he'd answered integrally to each question. The only thing that could have kept him from doing his best was the sight of Jasper sitting at his desk, which was distracting in itself and became all the more torturous when Edward felt a pair of brown eyes lasering through the side of his face.

He turned his head and looked up, managing to catch the blond red-handed. Jasper was staring directly at him, a familiar kind of intensity flickering behind his glasses. As soon as he realized that Edward had noticed it, however, he quickly lowered his gaze, the sound of him clearing his throat echoing for just a few seconds through the lecture hall.

Something drummed inside Edward's ribcage, something that felt somewhat painful, even if that didn't make any sense biologically. It was as if his heart had become drained and sore after weeks of running frenziedly in anticipation, unable to get any reprieve—any explicit sign that Jasper hadn't completely forgotten about their kiss.

For a moment, the redhead lost focus, the words on the exam paper blurring over, before he steeled himself and started writing again.

It was only when the time came for him to submit his paper that the ache in his chest stirred awake once more, as he walked from his chair to Jasper's desk and handed him his exam.

"How did it go?"

Edward's head snapped up in surprise. He hadn't been expecting Jasper to say anything to him. More importantly, he hadn't been expecting the blond to ask him _that_. For a few seconds, his mind brimmed with hope. Did Jasper want him to do well? Was he _worried_ about Edward's success?

"Good," the redhead said, smiling, before his green eyes darted up deliberately to meet the other's brown ones.

The look they shared was charged with a fizzling sort of intimacy, and Edward drew a sharp breath into his lungs. He turned on his heel with a smile glued to his face—a smile that vanished quickly, however, when he saw another student hand in her exam paper and heard Jasper's quiet voice again.

"How did it go?"

Edward rushed out of the building, chastening himself.

 _Moron,_ he thought. _That's what you are—a fucking moron._

Of course, Jasper wasn't concerned _specifically_ with Edward's academic results. Quite simply, he was the kind of professor who actually wanted his students to succeed, regardless of whether he was attracted to them or not.

By now, Edward was pretty much looking for signs that Jasper cared about him just about everywhere, even where they weren't likely to be found. In other words, he was becoming desperate, and the fact that someone could make him feel that way and possibly toy with his heart if they so wished put him in a funk for the following weeks. He hid in his bedroom throughout all that time, busying himself with job applications and three _Game of Thrones_ seasons, until Alice called him and told him that their grades had already come out while he'd been stuck in his room losing track of time.

"No C's," he announced blankly. "Only one B. Jasp—Whitlock gave me an A."

" _See,"_ Alice said on the other end of the line. " _He's not a dick after all_."

"No," Edward muttered as he absently checked his email account. "He really isn't."

He couldn't even be happy about his American History grade—at this point he wasn't sure if Jasper had given him an A because Edward deserved it, or if he'd done it because he'd become partial to the redhead, or even if the blond was trying to compensate him for something. Maybe Jasper regretted kissing him back, and this was his way of apologizing.

" _Wow,"_ Alice breathed. _"We actually agree on something."_

"Crazy, I know," he replied, his half-lidded eyes suddenly going wide as he stumbled upon a recent email that'd been sent to him by the chief librarian. "Oh, shit. _Shit._ I forgot about the books."

His hands rummaged through the pile on top of his desk in search for the four books he'd borrowed from the library at least two months before, a worried frown scrunching up his face when he came away empty-handed. He hurried to look around his room, and a sigh of relief escaped him when he found two of them under the bed and another two on top of his nightstand.

His eyes widened again, however, when he saw the name written on the cover of the last book he picked up. Immediately, he dropped all the others, so that he could hold it with both hands.

" _Galveston before and after the War_ ," he read aloud, his stomach twisting when he saw who the author was. "Jasper Whitlock," he whispered, his fingers rushing to open the book on the page that he'd dog-eared. Just like he'd predicted, that was the same page where he'd found the quote that he had used on his first assignment and whose source he'd completely forgotten to mention.

Edward didn't waste any time. Grabbing his phone and keys, he rushed to leave the house and get inside his car, his heart pounding fast against his breastbone. Within a few minutes only, he was already breezing past the hallways of the Social Sciences building on campus, his feet leading him quickly towards the door of Jasper's office.

He didn't bother knocking, his hand turning the knob almost as if he had no control over it anymore.

Jasper was reading something when Edward came in, and his brown eyes shot up in startled surprise as he saw his—former—student standing in his office with a book in his hand.

"How _petty_ can you be?" Edward gritted out, his voice made thicker by the mass of pent-up anger and hurt that was steadily swelling inside of him, as if it wanted to breach through his skin and spill over.

Jasper stood up slowly and stepped around his desk, his face coated in worry and confusion.

"Excuse me?"

"You gave me a C, because it was _your_ book I forgot," Edward said loudly. "It wasn't a question of ethics. You were mad, because I forgot to mention _your_ work."

The blond hurried to close the door, his eyes darkening as a storm brewed inside of them.

"First of all, lower your voice," he hissed. "Secondly, are you seriously still mad about that? Who's being petty now?"

Edward fell silent, his chest heaving beneath the crushing weight of his deflating anger and growing vulnerability. In reality, finding out that Jasper had lowered his grade on that first assignment because of personal motives wasn't the real cause of the redhead's distress. It had simply opened the valve to the overflowing storage of dejection and anxiety inside of him, and he hadn't been able to stop his feelings from pouring out with the force of a tidal wave.

In fact, he didn't really want to do so anyway.

"I can't stop thinking about you," he blurted out, and his voice was raspy and wet. Jasper's annoyed expression slid off his face immediately, his brown eyes widening slightly in surprise. His shock was short-lived, however—it faded quickly beneath a conflicted look that was tinged at the edges with longing, and Edward knew exactly what the blond would say next.

"You have to understand," he murmured. "There can't be anything between a professor and a student."

"If that's the only reason, you don't need to worry," Edward said. "I'm dropping out. I'm going to Juilliard. Not this year, because it's too late to audition for it. But I know I can do it. I just need to make enough money first."

The hand that Jasper had been using to keep the door closed suddenly dropped to his side, his chest swelling around the lungful of air that he took through his parted lips. Edward was hit with a sense of déjà-vu as he stared at those same lips, which were perfectly levelled with his vision, at the same time as, once again, he sensed something in the atmosphere around them—something that seemed to buzz quietly, like a stream of static electricity.

"Are you serious?" Jasper asked, his eyes darker than Edward had ever seen them.

The redhead nodded. "Yeah."

Apparently, that was all Jasper needed to hear. Reaching behind Edward, the blond locked the door with a dry click, his breaths fanning over the redhead's skin.

"When I talked to you for the first time, I thought that I would hate you," the professor said, while his hands slipped beneath the hem of Edward's white tee shirt. His touch was warm and gentle, but there was an undertone of urgency to it that made Edward's pulse quicken and his briefs tighten. "You sounded like such an arrogant brat. You reminded me of someone from high school."

"Someone who hurt you?" Edward guessed, wincing at the mental image of a blond-haired, brilliant teenage boy getting shoved against the school lockers and being laughed at for being a History geek.

"Yeah." Jasper nodded against the hollow of Edward's collarbone. The redhead felt a pair of supple lips move against the skin there, while two large, strong hands travelled down the small of his back towards his ass. "Back then, the only thing I had was my brain. I wasn't remotely athletic, nor was I good-looking." _I find that really hard to believe,_ Edward retorted in his head, his fingers curling around the fabric of the professor's blue shirt and tugging at it until it was no longer tucked into his dress pants. "So when you had the _nerve_ todismiss my thesis like that, as if I hadn't taken years to write it, you definitely hit a sore spot."

"I'm so—Oh!" Edward's breath caught in his throat when he felt a hand gliding into the inside of his jeans and pressing against his cock. A bad innuendo formed in his head, and he chuckled breathlessly. "So now you're going to hit _my_ sore spot. Is that it?"

Jasper's movements halted for a moment, and Edward worried that he'd said something wrong, until a wicked smile spread across the blond's face.

"Yeah," he drawled. "That's exactly what I'm gonna do."

With that, he span Edward around, a voracious shine in his eyes as he advanced on the redhead, forcing him to keep walking backwards until he felt the edge of the professor's work desk against the back of his thighs. Piles of paper and hardback books were swiftly pushed aside, some of them clattering against the floor, before Edward felt a warm mouth crash against his and a velvety tongue ask for entrance.

 _Holy fuck,_ he thought as his lips parted to let it in. His dick struggled against the fabric of his briefs, desperate for release, as his whole body filled with tension. As if he'd managed to read his mind, Jasper popped open the button of his jeans, his sun-kissed hands working quickly to pull the garment downward, until the redhead's cock sprang free.

"Help me out," Edward whispered through his panting. His pale fingers tugged at Jasper's red, stripped tie, trying to loosen the damn thing enough to pull it over the blond's head. Jasper ignored him for a moment, his hands hurrying to unbutton his own blue shirt, before he finally tended to Edward's request. At last, his tie was out of the way, and the redhead's mouth wasted no time latching on to the skin of the other's neck, while his hands crept downwards until they found Jasper's belt and took it off.

"Fuck," the blond hissed, as Edward's fingers slipped beneath the waist of his dress pants and cupped his balls.

"I want to see you," the redhead breathed out, and Jasper shook off his shirt, which fell to the ground with a whooshing sound, before he stepped out of his pants and his briefs.

Just like Edward had imagined, the man was a sight to behold. The planes and valleys of his muscled torso gave way to strong legs and sculpted arms. It was clear that the blond worked out, but that didn't mean he was a gym rat. He had a sinewy, beautiful body—the kind of body Edward wanted to wake up to every day.

Green eyes traced the trail of blond hair pointing down to Jasper's pelvic area, the pupils booming at the sight of the man's girth.

"Take your clothes off," Jasper told him huskily, and Edward started moving before he'd even finished his sentence. Large, partially callused hands settled over the redhead's shoulders once he was done, sliding slowly downwards until they reached his narrow hips and pushed forward. Edward understood that he was being told to sit on the desk, and without a moment of hesitation, he propped himself up on the dark, cool wood. "You're so goddamn beautiful," Jasper groaned, kissing him again. "So _distracting._ "

"Uh," Edward whimpered, tracing the area around the other's eyes with the pads of fingers. "Why aren't you wearing your glasses?"

"Why?" Jasper chuckled. "Do you miss them?"

"I do." The redhead nodded, his eyelids fluttering in confusion when he saw the professor holding his tie again.

"Don't worry. I have something better," Jasper murmured in his ear, and Edward drew a sharp breath through his teeth when he felt the smooth fabric of the red, stripped tie slip over his head and slide down his forehead until it was covering his eyes. "Is this okay?"

"Fuck," Edward cursed. His cock was painfully hard now, the tip brushing against his own stomach. "Fuck. Yeah. It's more than okay."

"Good," Jasper said simply, before giving the redhead's shoulder a gentle push, telling him without words to lie back. The wood was smooth and cold against Edward's skin, both its texture and temperature seeming all the more real now that he couldn't see anything.

The darkness felt strangely exhilarating—it left him panting in anticipation, wondering what would come next, and made every sensation appear to be much more vivid than usual, so that, when Jasper bent to kiss his mouth and then scrape his teeth against his nipple, Edward had to fight the urge to cry out.

"I can't stop thinking about you either," the blond said quietly. "Did you know that? Since that first day, I haven't been able to get you out of my head."

"Oh, God," Edward gasped, taken completely by surprise by the lube-covered finger that suddenly thrust into his entrance. Jasper maintained a steady rhythm for a few minutes, before adding a second finger, and all the while, the redhead refrained from touching his own cock

He was certain that if he did, he wouldn't last more than two minutes.

 _Ironic,_ he thought. _Didn't you say you were going to make_ him _come in just two minutes?_

"You okay?" Jasper asked. Edward heard him touching himself, and immediately, his hand reached out to wrap around the blond's cock, his palm becoming smeared with lube. He raised his legs and snaked them around the professor's thighs, pulling him in, hyperaware of the trickle of sweat that was coursing through the bronze hair on his temple.

"Please," he groaned, and in less than a few seconds, he felt the head of Jasper's cock against his hole, pressing slowly forward. The pain that blazed through the ring of muscle made Edward grimace for a moment, but it didn't take long for it to mingle with the feeling of fullness that accompanied it, as Jasper pushed his member into him completely. Soon, after Edward had been given some time to adjust, their breaths began to conglomerate into a unique pattern, as Jasper picked up the pace, his thrusts becoming increasingly fast.

"Are you going to come for me, sugar?" he asked after a while, and Edward squeezed his eyes shut behind his makeshift blindfold at the term of endearment.

"No." The redhead shook his head. "Not yet."

"Not yet?" Jasper echoed, and Edward could hear the amusement in his voice. "Are you sure about that?"

"I'm su—Oh, fuck," he breathed out, as a hand covered his neglected cock and began to stroke it. "Jasper… I'm… _Please._ I'm going to—"

The pressure inside his stomach welled up like a wave about to crash down onto the shore, as white spots danced around his closed lids, before a short cry burst from his lips and every single one of his muscles tensed. His orgasm coursed through him with barely any warning, slamming into him with enough force to leave him lying there moments afterward, practically immobile.

He felt Jasper slide out of him and heard him put on his pants again, the sound of a belt buckle clinking nudging the edges of his consciousness. He sat back up so quickly that his head swam for a moment, his thin, pale fingers tearing the tie away from his face until it was hanging off his neck.

"What are you doing?" he asked loudly, his heart beginning to throb inside his chest. Jasper was putting on his shirt already, and Edward didn't know what that meant, but the memory of every other guy he'd had sex with getting dressed quickly and moving on to the next person twisted its way into his mind like a venomous snake.

"I'm getting dressed," the blond replied.

"You didn't come yet," Edward said, his eyes wide as a tendril of fear slithered down his throat. "Is this a new trend or something? Like, nice guys finish last, but nerds don't finish at all – instead, they just leave."

Jasper lifted his warm, brown gaze to him, a frown marring the smoothness of his forehead.

"Who said anything about me leaving?" the blond questioned.

Edward gulped down the lump in his throat.

"Okay. Right. _I_ am the one who has to leave. I get it."

"Didn't you hear what I said?" Jasper huffed in frustration, his hand wrapping around the redhead's wrist, like he had done that time that Edward had gone to talk to him. "You're constantly on my mind. Do you really think that if I wanted you to leave I would've had sex with you? What kind of person do you think I am?"

Edward's cheeks grew hot, as he really thought about it.

"A good one," he finally replied. "I just don't understand. Don't you want… a hand or something? I mean…" His breath caught in his throat when he saw the proud—and yet discreet—smile that colored the blond's face. "Oh, come on!" he said, remembering his own plan to take revenge on his professor by pushing him over the edge in a ridiculously short amount of time. There was no way Jasper could've known about it, but then, Edward didn't think it had anything to do with this. "All right, I get it. You're good. I don't know why you felt like you had to prove that to me, but, yeah, I respect that."

"I didn't need to prove anything to you." Jasper shrugged. "It's not something I'm insecure about."

Edward rolled his eyes as he pulled his shirt over his head, after having slipped into his jeans. A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth all the while, inspired by the thought that this man was the living proof that English dictionaries were disturbingly wrong about what it was to be a nerd. Though he sometimes lacked tact, Jasper _did_ know how to approach people, and, besides being mind-blowingly hot, he was, in fact, the most interesting person Edward had ever met—he was passionate, stubborn, and _proud_ , and Edward was so glad he finally had someone like that in his life.

He did realize that their relationship would probably be plagued with challenges. They wouldn't be able to reveal it to anyone for a while, just for the sake of precaution, and within one year, Edward would be packing his bags to go to New York to pursue his dream.

Still, this _was_ something he wanted. It was something that made him happy, and he wanted to devote himself to it—to this odd connection he'd forged with Jasper—, instead of sitting back and getting used to a life without risks.

"All right," the redhead said. "So you just wanted to show off. You know, I'm starting to think that maybe I was right. You must be a Leo."

Jasper furrowed his brow. "How do you know?"

Edward laughed. Maybe, after all, there was some truth to Alice's preaching.

"What can I say? Gemini's are very intuitive."


End file.
